NEW: Untitled Landscape by Michelle Noteboom

Looky here. It’s all going in the wrong direction. Like a falling star. Like fiberglass. Like the gegenschein pinned on the tail of an autumn sky. You mooncalf. You nitwit. Maybe that’ll teach you to focus more on the body substance, the blurred outline filtering forward from the sepiaed depths of a former century. In this image, you can’t stop reflecting on the kinds of activities employed to take tumblers and cylinders apart. But there’s a shift in the infrastructure, oh-so-subtle, and the fallacy folds inward again. You itch to unlock the origami yet find your hands are gloved, the galaxy lulled. Just can the sturm und drang for once. You wastrel.

"Athena Undone" by Michelle Noteboom

After "Athena" by Jennifer K. Dick

meat slab &
slander
under wraps
plundered skirts

tomes in off-
white shades
moldering
purblind spite

memento-mori
moot busker
thus turpentined
slattern swills

unbridled risqué
shaft shunt
routing out
another comedo

New: STAINLESS SUNSET WITH INTERESTING WATER LOOP by Michelle Noteboom

Stainless Sunset with Interesting Water Loop
by Michelle Noteboom

Try bromides. Try bonelets. Try coming through the slag heap to bring this idea home. Because if you can see the shadow, what you’re really seeing is translucence. Even if you can’t tell what’s going up and what’s coming down. Another face-off in an urban space that speaks to dwarfing, while the redemptive element (human) seeps out in a vast glut of deconstruction. It’s pinguid. No one’s touching anymore anyway, so why slip the glimpse? It makes you think of a mine shaft. Of a lime kiln. Or an air-conditioned junkyard. In this image, you dismantle your own city – brick by brick – and carry shallow bowls to the hybrid slash. The vines grow dusty; the water, orange. And 15 days later, you still find yourself striving after the asperity that once would have been engineered at the core.

After "Thursdays" by Sandy F, "Burlesque" by Amanda D, "Translucent Ant Skin" by Sawako N and "Cathedrals" by Rufo Q

Youthful Trust, Pre-programmed
By Michelle Noteboom

It’s the body accents and shelves – a whole new tightest bend in a field of natives. All that porphyry snagging the green light even at ten, glowing so clear like a bit of a bigger way into two-bit pills and three-dollar desires. But I, shiny, combing out indiscretions & taboos, all buzzed out and airbrushed into the night like no such thing. White-lit waiting until some sort of monastic explodes your horn (the most recent catch emerging out of the proverbial ground). Nearby skin focuses the myth of days, moon-flapped aureoles. The rhetoric reiterating the blaring stain on the violet shag: "there is no death".